


Napalm and Roses

by 35-leukothea (35_leukothea)



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: M/M, Nezushi - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 11:17:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3690219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/35_leukothea/pseuds/35-leukothea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shion decides to be nosy about Nezumi's scars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Napalm and Roses

**Author's Note:**

> non-graphic mentions of burns, fire, and napalm. takes place before Shion meets Rou.
> 
> read on tumblr [here](http://35-leukothea.tumblr.com/post/115618775387/quick-warning-this-fic-has-mentions-of-fire).

It has always hurt Shion to see Nezumi’s scars.

It’s both a sort of mental agony and a great physical discomfort. It hurts his mind to think of what horrible torture could’ve caused the scars and burns that plague Nezumi’s back, and whenever Shion catches even a glimpse of them, he feels a bizarre prickling sensation run down the length of his spine—like a shiver, but worse. The scar tissue, red and ugly and out-standing, seems even more out-of-place on Nezumi than it would on anyone else, because save for his back, his skin is uncannily flawless, unblemished, like a beautiful painted doll, locked in time. It makes Shion feel strange sometimes, when he thinks about his own scar and how visible it is, but he barely ever gives a thought to the pain he went through because of it. It takes him a long time to wonder if it is the same way for Nezumi, until he’s watching him change (quite indiscreetly) after a wash one day nearly two months since he came to the West District.

There is a saying that Shion has heard, a comparison to watching a train wreck in action, where you can’t bring yourself to look away no matter how awful it is. He doesn’t know the exact wording, but he feels a connection to this saying whenever he sees Nezumi’s back. The sight of it is dreadful, but mesmerizing nonetheless. He knows Nezumi knows he watches him, and knows he knows he’s watching him now. This is not an uncommon occurrence, but this time, Shion decides he is going to pry.

“Did it hurt?” he asks quietly.

Nezumi doesn’t look at him. “When I fell from heaven?”

Shion glares at the back of his head and his sleek black hair, still dripping with moisture, and thinks privately that if he weren’t so serious right now he’d hit the other with a book. “I’m not joking, Nezumi.”

He sighs heavily, then gives an odd jerk, almost as if to kick himself. “What do you think, airhead?” he says dryly. “Do you want me to lather napalm over you and set you on fire so you can find out?”

Shion can’t help it—he gasps. He’s hardly shocked, but the indelicate words still have a strong impact, and the images he’s created in his mind of Nezumi’s suffering suddenly become even more vivid and horrific. “Who would...” He shakes his head and starts again. “Who on this planet still has napalm, and uses it?”

“I would tell you you don’t wanna know,” Nezumi replies conversationally, “but that sounded like a rhetorical question anyway, so I won’t bother.”

He tries not to get angry with Nezumi, but it’s difficult sometimes.  _He_ ’sdifficult sometimes. Just a difficult person. Some people are like that. So Shion just tears his eyes away from the scars to pretend he’s less interested in this topic than he is. “How old were you?”

“I’m not going to give you any more sob stories to mull over,” Nezumi says firmly as he pulls a shirt over his head. “You’ve already had plenty, you’ll crack.”

“How old were you, Nezumi?”

He gives an exasperated huff, then grabs a handful of his own hair and swears through clenched teeth— _what is he getting so aggravated about?_  “You’re idiotic, Shion,” he snaps. “You have something better to do with your time than this.”

“I wouldn’t have time to do anything at all if it wasn’t for you. Please tell me, Nezumi,” Shion pleads. “I don’t want to be strangers.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a couple steps between being strangers and knowing every last detail of a person’s life,” Nezumi says, and it’s almost a snarl, like he’s one of Inukashi’s dogs.

“Says he who spied on a boy his every waking moment for four years straight because he gave him stitches and cherry cake! When someone saves your life, Nezumi, I think it’s pretty natural to be curious about them.”

Nezumi takes a deep breath and releases it very slowly—a very ineffective use of oxygen. “Shion.”

“Yes?” he replies instantly.

There is a pause. At first, Shion thinks Nezumi is going to insult him again, but to his surprise, he turns and moves to sit on the coffee table in front of the couch, then faces Shion and puts his hand on his cheek. His palm is soft, and he smells faintly of cheap soap.

“Not today,” he murmurs, his gray eyes gentle. “Alright?”

Shion swallows, and unconsciously brings his own hand up to meet Nezumi’s. “Alright,” he agrees finally.

“Good,” says Nezumi, letting his fingers thread through Shion’s ivory hair as he stands. “I promise you, the time will come.”

“When?” Shion blurts, then automatically covers his hand with his mouth, embarrassed.

Nezumi laughs and rubs his forehead. “Jeez, you’re such a little kid. We get there when we get there, Shion. Stop and smell the roses.”

“I think the roses were all burnt up by napalm and flamethrowers.”

“Ah, that’s my boy. We’ll get you a sense of humor yet.”

Shion sighs and leans back on the couch. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”


End file.
